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A GOOD DAY 


FT MEADE 
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BY 

OYD CABLE 


fliUTWEEN THE LINES,” “ACTION FRONT,” 

“doing their bit,” etc. 



I NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 

681 FIFTH AVENUE 


I 




A GOOD DAY 


BY 

BOYD CABLE ^ ’ 

AUTHOR OP ‘'between THE LINES,” “ACTION FRONT,” 
“doing their bit,” etc. 



9 



NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 

* 

681 FIFTH AVENUE 


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COPTBIOBT, 1918, 

By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 


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APR 


25 1918 


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A GOOD DAY. 


Half an hour before there was a hint of 
dawn in the sky the flight was out with the 
machines lined up on the grass, the me- 
chanics busy about them, the pilots giving 
preliminary tests and runs to their engines. 
There had been showers of rain during the 
night, welcome rain which had laid the dust 
on the roads and washed it off the hedges 
and trees, rain just sufficient to slake the 
thirst of the parched ground and grass, with- 
out bringing all the discomfort of mud and 
mire which as a rule comes instantly to mind 
when one speaks of “rain” at the front. 

It was a summer morning, fresh, and cool, 
and clean, with the raindrops still gemming 
the grass and leaves, a delicious scent of moist 
earth in the bahny air, a happy chorus of 
chirping, twittering birds everywhere, a lark, 
impatient for the day, already in air and sing- 
ing gloriously — a “great,” a “gorgeous,” a 


A GOOD DAY 


“perfect” morning, as the pilots told each 
other. 

A serene Sabbath stilhiess, a gentle cahn 
hung over the aerodrome until the machines 
were nin out and the engines began to tune 
up. But even in their humming, thnnnming, 
booming notes there was nothing harsh or dis- 
cordant or greatly out of keeping with the air 
of peace and happiness. And neither, if one 
had not known what it was, would the long 
heavy rumble that beat down wind have 
wakened any but peaceful thoughts. It might 
have been the long lazy boom of the surf beat- 
ing in on a sandy beach, the song of leaping 
waterfalls, the distant rumble of summer 
thunder . . . except perhaps for the quicker 
drum-like roll that rose swelling every now 
and then through it, the sharper, yet dull and 
flat, thudding bumps and thumps that to any 
understanding ear marked the sound for what 
it was — the roar of the guns. 

Already the guns were hard at it — ^had been 
for days and nights past, in fact — would be 
harder at it than ever as the light grew on 
this summer morning, for this was the day set 


A GOOD DAY 


for the great battle, was within an hour or 
two of the moment marked for the attack to 
begin. 

The squadron commander was out long be- 
fore the time detailed for the flight to start. 
He spoke to some of the pilots, looked round, 
evidently missed someone, and was just be- 
ginning, “Where is ” when he caught 

sight of a figure in flying clothes hurrying 
out from the huts. The figure halted to speak 
to a pilot and the Major called impatiently, 
“Come along, boy. Waiting for you.” 
‘ ‘ Eight, sir, ’ ’ called the other and then laugh- 
ingly to his companion, “Worst of having a 
brother for C.O. Always privileged to chase 
you. ’ ’ 

“Flight Leader ought to be first. Sonny, 
not last,^’ said the Major as the boy came 
up. “Sorry, Jim,” said the boy, “I’m all 
ready,” and ran on to his waiting machine. 

One by one the pilots clambered aboard 
and settled themselves in their seats, and one 
after another the engines were started, sput- 
tering and banging and misbehaving noisily 
at first in some cases, but quickly steadying. 


A GOOD DAY 


and, after a few grunts and throaty whwr 
rumphs, picking up their beat, droning out 
the deep note that rises tone by tone to the 
full long roaring song of perfect power. 

The Major walked along the line, halted 
at each machine and spoke a word or two to 
each pilot. He stood a little longer at the 
end machine until the pilot eased his engine 
down and its roar dropped droning to a quiet 
“ticking over.” 

“All right and aU ready. Sonny?” said the 
Major. 

“All correct, sir,” said Sonny laughingly 
and with a half joking salute. “Feel fine, 
Jim, and the old bus is in perfect trim.” 

‘ ‘ Think the rain has gone, ’ ’ said the Major. 
“It’s going to be a fine day, I fancy.” 

“It’s just topping,” cried Soimy, wrin- 
kling his nose and sniffing luxuriously. 
“Air’s as full of sweet scent as a hay meadow 
at home.” 

‘ ‘ Flight got your orders all clear to start ? ’ ’ 

Sonny nodded. “Yes, we’ll show you the 
usual star turn take-off all right. You watch 

us.” 


A GOOD DAY 


The Major glanced at his wrist watch and 
at the paling sky. “ Almost time. Well, take 
care of yourself, Sonny.” He put his hand 
up on the edge of the cockpit and Sonny slid 
his glove off, and gave an affectionate little 
squeeze to the fingers that came over the 
edge. 

“I’ll be all right, Jim boy. We’re going 
to have a good day. Wish you were coming 
with us.” 

“Wish I were,” said the Major. “Good 
luck, ’ ’ and he stepped back and walked out in 
front of the line of machines, halted, glanced 
at his watch and up at the sky again, and 
stood waiting. 

The half dozen machines, too, stood wait- 
ing and motionless except for the answering 
quiver that ran through them to their en- 
gines’ beat. Down from the line the throb- 
bing roll of the gunfire rose louder and heav- 
ier, with a new, an ugly and sinister snarling 
note running through it. The flat thudding 
reports of the nearer Heavies came at quicker 
and closer intervals, the rumble of the fur- 


A GOOD DAY 


ther and smaller pieces ran up to the steady 
unbroken roar of drum-fire. 

The wind was coming from the line and 
the machines were lined up facing into it, so 
that the pilots sat looking at the jumping, 
flickering lights which flamed up across the 
sky from the guns’ discharge. Earlier, these 
flashes had blazed up in broad sheets of yel- 
low and orange tinted light from the horizon 
to half way up the height of the dark sky, 
leaped and sank, leaped again and beat throb- 
bing and pulsing wave on wave, or flickering 
and quivering jerkily for seconds on end, 
dying down, and immediately flaring up in 
wide sheet-lightning glows. Now, in the 
growing light the gun flashes showed more 
and more faintly, in sickly pallid flashes. 
There was no halt or pause between the jump- 
ing lights now; they trembled and flickered 
unceasingly, with every now and then a 
broader, brighter glare wiping out the lesser 
lights. 

The pilots sat watching the battle lights, 
listening to the shaking battle thunder, and 
waiting the Squadron Commander’s signal 


A GOOD DAY 


to go. The birds were chattering happily and 
noisily, and the lark climbed pouring out long 
shrill bursts of joyful song ; somewhere over 
in the farmyard beside the drome hens cluck- 
clucked and a cock crowed shrilly; and from 
one of the workshops came the cheerful clink- 
link clink-link of hammers on an anvil. 

It was all very happy and peaceful — except 
for the jumping gun-flashes and rolling gun- 
fire, life was very sweet and pleasant — ^unless 
one thought of life over there in the trenches, 
and what the next hour or two would bring. 
Everyone knew there was “dirty work” 
ahead. It was the first really big “show” 
the Squadron had been in; they had been in 
plenty of the ordinary 0. P. S. (Offensive 
Patrols) and air scraps, but this was the real 
big thing, a great battle on the ground, and 
a planned attack on the grand scale in the air 
which was to sweep the sky of Huns . . . and 
the gunfire was still growing . . . and the 
lark up there was bursting his throat to tell 
them what a pleasant place the world was on 
this summer morning, with the raindrops 


A GOOD DAY 

fresh on the grass and the breeze cool in 
the trees. 

Nearly time ! The flight leader ran his en- 
gine up again, its humming drone rising to a 
full deep-chested roar. The other pilots fol- 
lowed suit, engine after engine picking up the 
chorus and fillmg the air with deafening and 
yet harmonious sound. A man stood just 
clear of the wing-tips to either side of each 
machine, holding a cord fast to the wood 
blocks chocked under the wheels. Another 
man or two clung to each tail holding it down 
against the pull of the propeller, their sleeves, 
jacket tails, trousers legs fluttering wildly in 
the gales which poured aft from the whirl- 
ing screws and sent twigs and leaves and dust 
flying and dancing back in a rushing stream. 
So the pilots sat for a minute, their faces in- 
tent and earnest, listening to the hum and 
beat of their engines and note of their pro- 
pellers’ roar, watching the flight leader’s 
movements out of the tail of their eyes. He 
eased his engine down. And promptly every 
other engine eased. He waved his hand to 
right and left, and the waiting men jerked 


A GOOD DAY 


the chocks clear of his wheels. And five other 
hands waved and five other pairs of chocks 
jerked clear. He moved forward, swung to 
the right with a man to each wing-tip to help 
swing him, and roUed steadily out into the 
open. And five other machines moved for- 
ward, swung right, and followed in line astern 
of him. He wheeled to the left, moved more 
quickly, opened his engine up, ran forward 
at gathering speed. Moving slowly his ma- 
chine had looked like a lumbering big fat 
beetle. Skimming rapidly across the grass 
with its nose down and its tail up, it changed 
to an excited hen racing with outstretched 
head and spread wings. Then — a lift — an up- 
ward swoop and rush — and she was ... a 
swallow, an eagle, a soaring gull — any of 
these you like, as symbols of speed and power 
and grace, but best symbol of all perhaps, just 
herself, for what she was — a clean-built, 
stream-lined, two-hundred horse, fast, fight- 
ing-scout aeroplane. 

The Squadron Commander stood watching 
the take-off of the fiight with a thrill of pride, 
and truly it was a sight to gladden the heart 


A GOOD DAY 


of any enthusiast. As the flight leader ’s ma- 
chine tucked up her tail and raced to pick up 
speed, the second machine had followed her 
round her curve, steadied, and began to move 
forward gathering way in her very wheel- 
tracks. As the leader zoomed up and away, 
the second machine was picking up her skirts 
and making her starting rush, and the third 
machine was steadying round the turn to fol- 
low. As the second left the ground, the third 
began to make her run, and the fourth was 
round the turn and ready to start hers. So 
they followed, machiae by machine, evenly 
spaced in distance apart, running each oth- 
er’s tracks down, leaping off within yards of 
the same point, each following the other into 
the air as if they were tied on lengths of a 
string. It was a perfect exhibition of flight 
leadership — and following. One turn round 
the drome they made, — and the flight was in 
perfect formation and sailing off to the east, 
climbing as it went. The commander stood 
and watched them gain their height in one 
more wide sweeping turn and head due east, 
then moved towards the huts. 


A GOOD DAY 


The hammers were still beating out their 
cheery clink-link, the birds chirping and twit- 
tering. The lark, silenced or driven from the 
sky by these strange monster invaders, took 
up his song again and shrilled out to aU the 
world that it was a joy to live on such a day 
of summer — of summer — of summer. 

And the guns roared on in suUen rolling 
thunder. 

The last red glow of sunset was fading out 
of the square of sky seen through the open 
Squadron oflSce window. The Major sat in 
his own place at the centre of the table, and 
his Colonel, with the dust of motor travel 
still thick on his cap and coat, sat by the 
empty fire-place listening and saying nothing. 
A young lad, with leather coat thrown open 
and leather helmet pushed back on his head, 
stood by the table and spoke rapidly and eag- 
erly. He was one of the patrol that had left 
at dawn, had made a forced landing, had only 
just reached the drome, and had come straight 
to the office to report and tell his tale. 

‘ ‘ I have the combat report, of course, ’ ’ said 


A GOOD DAY 


the Major, “you might read it first — and I’ve 
some other details; but I’d like to know any- 
thing further you can tell.” 

The lad read the report, a bare dozen lines, 
of which two and a half told the full tale of a 
brave man’s death — “as he went down out of 
control he signalled for us to break off the 
fiight and return, and then for the deputy to 
take command. He was seen to crash.” 
“That’s true, sir,” said the lad, “but d’you 
know — d’you see what it — all it meant? We’d 
been scrappin’ half an hour. We were on our 
last rounds of ammunition and our last pints 
of petrol . . . against seventeen Huns, and 
we ’d crashed four and put three down out of 
control . . . they were beat, and we knew it, 
and meant to chase ’em off.” 

He had been speaking quickly, almost in- 
coherently, but now he steadied himself and 
spoke more carefully. 

‘ ‘ Then Tie saw their reinforcements comin ’ 
up, one lot from north, t’other from south. 
They’d have cut us off. We were too busy 
scrappin’ to watch. They had us cold, with 
us on our last rounds and nearly out of petrol. 


A GOOD DAY 


But he saw them. He was shot down then — 
I dunno whether it was before or after he 
saw them; but he was goin’ down right out 
of control — dead-leafing, then a spin, then 

leafing again. And he signalled ” The 

boy gulped, caught and steadied his voice 
again and went on quietly. “You know; 
there’s half a dozen coloured lights stuck in 
the dash-board in front of him — and his Verey 
pistol in the rack beside him. He picked out 
the proper coloured light — goin’ down help- 
lessly out of control — and took his pistol out 
/ 

of the rack . . . and loaded it . . . and put 
it over the side and fired his signal, ‘ Get back 
to the drome — return home,’ whatever it is 
exactly — ^we all knew it meant to break off 
the scrap and clear out, anyway. But he 
wasn’t done yet. He picked another light — 
the proper coloured light again . . . and 
still knowin’ he’d crash in the next few sec- 
onds . . . and loaded and fired, ‘I am out of 
action; deputy flight leader will carry on 
. . .’ Then, he crashed ...” 

The boy gulped again and stopped, and for 


A GOOD DAY 


a space there was dead silence in the little 
office. 

“Thank you,” said the squadron com- 
mander at last, very quietly, “I won’t ask 
you for more now.” 

The boy saluted and turned, but the Major 
spoke again. “There’s a message here I’ve 
just had. You might like to read it.” 

The pilot took it and read a message of 
congratulations and thanks from headquar- 
ters on the work of the air services that day, 
saying how the Huns had been driven out 
of the air, how so many of them had been 
crashed, so many driven down out of con- 
trol, with slight losses of so many machines 
to us. ‘ ‘ On all the fronts engaged, ’ ’ the mes- 
sage finished, ‘ ‘ the Squadrons have done well, 
and the corps has had a good day. ’ ’ 

“A good day,” said the boy bitterly and 
spat a gust of oaths. “I — pardon, sir,” he 
said, catching the Major’s eye and the Col- 
onel’s quick glance, “but — Sonny was my 
pal; I was his chum, the best chum he had 

” He checked himself again, and after 

a pause, “No, sir,” he said, “I beg your par- 


A GOOD DAY 


don. You were always that to Sonny.” He 
saluted again, very gravely and exactly, 
turned and went. 

The Colonel rose. “It’s true, too,” said 
the Major, “I was; and he was the dearest 
chum to me. I fathered him since he was ten, 
when our Pater died. I taught him to fly — 
took him up dual myself, and I remember he 
was quick as a monkey in learning. I 
watched his first solo, with my heart in my 
mouth; and I had ten times the pride he had 
himself when he put his first wings up. And 
now ... he’s gone.” 

“He saved his flight,” said the Colonel 
softly. “You heard. It’s him and his like 
that make the Corps what it is. They show 
the way; and the others carry on. They go 

down, but ” he tapped his finger slowly 

on the message lying on the table, “but the 
corps . . . the corps ‘has had A Good 
Day.’ ” 


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